


Ribbons

by RemixConstellation



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Escape, F/M, Illegal Magic, Implied/Referenced Torture, Known magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 08:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16615646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemixConstellation/pseuds/RemixConstellation
Summary: There’s a cottage, just beyond the border of Arthur’s land. One built from stones kissed by dragon fire, roofed in the breath of the faeries. Merlin has traded far more than the king’s blood-gold for this sanctuary. He can only beg the old gods for it to be enough now.





	Ribbons

Merlin finds her hanging from a wall on the North Tower. Her wrist, delicate little glass things, hang from bloody iron, red silk-skin ribbons hanging down her arms. Her mouth hangs open, and tears stream down her gaunt cheeks, but she doesn’t make a noise. It is cruel, Merlin thinks, that even now, dripping red and caked in mud, she’s probably the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. 

He hates his king for this; for the crime he commits against his own sister. He wonders if she knows why she hangs like bait from the King’s own tower. He wonders if she knows what he has cost them both. 

_ I’m sorry, love. _

She doesn’t move, doesn’t shift. Only the slow rise of her chest lets him know she lives. Night is falling, too slowly. He doesn’t have the time to wait. Arthur will be missing him soon. But he cannot leave her suffering here. 

_ Just a while longer, dearheart. Just a few breaths more. _

His head echoes with her sigh and it his sob, and not hers that startles the crows in the rafters. “A few breaths more,” he promises her.

He vanishes in a silver fog and misses the pearlescent tears spilling just above her heart.

\---

Arthur runs him ragged, until the moon rest high in the sky. Sometimes Merlin thinks the king knows what he has done. Sometimes he thinks Morgana is just punishment because Merlin told him no. 

But the child rest in his cot, Merlin’s silent orb ever-watchful. He’s big enough now, Merlin thinks. Escape is clear. But as Arthur releases him from his tasks, a scream sings through all of Camelot. High and piercing, the wail of the dead. Even Arthur’s skin pales and his eyes grow wide. 

Wind howls through the castle, torrential rain patters against the stones outside. Thunder beats in the sky like war drums and lightning brings daylight nine hours too early.

“The witch will end us all, Merlin.” Arthur says.

“The witch has not brought this storm down, My King,” Merlin answers. “Her son can feel his mother’s impending death.” 

Arthur whirls around, sword at the ready. “The boy lives?” 

Merlin grins, dark and feral and murderous. “My son grows strong, Sire.”

He’s gone before the sword pierces the stone. 

\---

Merlin lowers Morgana down. Like ribbons of a dress fit for a Queen, her skin drifts on the wind. Merlin can do very little to heal her now, to keep the scars from forming ridges across her bones. But he can rub the oils and the yarrow into the skin and tie bows at her elbows and shoulders. 

She’s nothing in his arms, not even the faint weight of a feather, not even air caught in his lungs. 

He must move quickly, swiftly; must grow the wings he needs to carry her from this place. Must carry their boy on his back. 

The rain never lets up, the wind shrieks louder, angry at this betrayal. Does the king know the sin riding in his own viens? Merlin hasn’t the time to ponder.

There’s a cottage, just beyond the border of Arthur’s land. One built from stones kissed by dragon fire, roofed in the breath of the faeries. Merlin has traded far more than the king’s blood-gold for this sanctuary. He can only beg the old gods for it to be enough now. 

His son drops from his back in a heavy thud, eyes already glowing with the protection in a long-forgotten tongue. They place Morgana on a bed of sun-bleached hay, but there is very little they can do now. They grip her hands, and they say their prayers, and many times through the night Merlin turns his face towards the west where he hears the hooves of a vengeful ruler. 

Morgana only has to live through the night, he thinks, and they have won. This night goes on for years. 

\---

Morgana was once the beauty of three kingdoms. Merlin tells her, she still is. But she smiles at him, a wane and fading thing and she lifts arms that are nothing more than flesh-ridges bones. He touches her, traces each dip and valley. Cradles her in his arms and kisses the necklace around her neck; one made of tissue and scar. 

He loves her, every moment he can. He dips into her and he bares her weight on his hips and he spills inside of her. 

She is so beautiful, this dainty creature. And she weeps at a belly that never grows round. But her son cradles himself in her lap and she kisses his dark curls. Sings lullabies to green-meadow eyes. When he sleeps, pearlescent tears paint his cheeks.

_ The king will find us, dearheart. Will finish what he started. _

Merlin has no denial, no promises. But he built this home with his own hands, and bled his protection into the floor.  _ We will face him should he try. _

His crimes have cost them much, but he cannot give her up.


End file.
